


After The Blast

by kcstories



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-21
Updated: 2010-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-06 12:52:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, Harry feels lost and uncertain, and he wanders aimlessly about. Someone sees this and decides to save Harry and make him feel again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After The Blast

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** Written for the first round of "Phoenix Flies" at InsaneJournal. The summary for this story was also the original prompt.  
> **Disclaimer:** The Potterverse is JKR's, not mine. Written for fun, not profit.  
> **Warnings:** EWE, angst, slash, mention of character deaths, AU-ish.

Harry never expected things to go that way.

No one could have anticipated something like this to happen.

The Battle of Hogwarts should have ended this war, and the victory that followed should have given them peace.

But it didn't.

Not by a long shot.

It turned out the enemy of his enemy wasn't his friend either.

First came the terrible blast, and then the devastating after-effects.

Exposure to high levels of radiation, _Muggle_ technology, and the irony of rebelling Death Eaters resorting to such methods might have been amusing, if it weren't for the countless casualties.

Magically cleaning up the still lingering radiation wasn't too difficult, but unfortunately the same couldn't be said for restoring the health of the many helpless victims.

There was no remedy.

There was nothing the healers could do but mouth their frustrated apologies, one after the other, while many people succumbed to mysterious illnesses for which neither Muggle nor Wizarding medicine knew a cure.

  
*****

  
It should have ended with Voldemort.

Harry sighs deeply and leans against the remains of a wall, amongst the ruins of a once-majestic castle - his former school and his first real home.

Perhaps if he'd never been a pupil here, things would never have gone this far.

Maybe his aunt and uncle had a point when they didn't want him getting involved with magic, when they wanted him to steer clear of anything and everything to do with that part of his heritage

Would a Muggle existence have been worse than what his present life has turned into?

Would he have missed out on anything essential if he'd never learned the truth, if Hagrid had never spoken those unforgettable words?

_"You're a wizard, Harry."_

Standing here today, for the third year in a row, his mind is clouded with doubt.

Perhaps he should have trusted his aunt's judgment. His own obviously isn't worth a damn.

"Potter?" The voice sounds familiar, but its tone is less haughty than Harry remembers it. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Malfoy," comes the flat response. Harry doesn't turn around. He deliberates with himself whether he should take this once in a lifetime opportunity to get rid of some pent-up anger, but is soon surprised to discover he has none to expel.

Come to think of it, he has completely run out of grief too.

The only feeling left is numbness, the total darkness that follows the silence that set in after the blast.

The blond man shrugs. "I had to be in London," he says evenly, "and meet with the executor of my late father's estate."

"Yeah, I heard about Lucius' death," Harry offers mechanically. "My condolences."

"Thank you," Draco replies, but his voice is equally devoid of any emotion.

It doesn't fully register with either of them how they silently walk to the bench and sit there for what feels like an eternity, although it's only until sunset.

Just as they're about to go their separate ways again, Draco asks, "Will you still be in the city tomorrow, Potter?"

The shrug is as half-hearted as the response that follows. "I suppose so. I have nowhere else to be."

"Would you like to join me for lunch?"

"Sure, all right."

A few minutes later, Harry doesn't know why he accepted any more than Draco grasps why he even offered in the first place, except that somehow, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

  
*****

  
"What are you doing these days?" Draco asks conversationally, cutting his smoked salmon into tiny, triangular pieces.

Harry shrugs. "Not a lot. I have my parents' money and I don't need much to live off."

"Hm." Draco gives him a pensive look. "Are you still staying at the Blacks' house?"

"Grimmauld Place?" He shrugs again. "Yeah. It's as good a place as any."

Draco frowns when he brings back to mind the dungy, draughty and anything but cozy mansion. Then he notices Potter's plate and remarks, "You've barely touched your linguine. Is there something wrong with it?"

Harry shrugs. "No, it's quite nice, but I'm not very hungry."

  
*****

  
Draco can't catch a wink of sleep that night. He realizes he's worried, and unbelievably enough, about bloody _Potter_, of all people.

He Apparates to Grimmauld Place, relieved to find the Wards gone.

The exterior of the house is as daunting and unwelcoming as ever, and the doorknocker looks like it's eager to bite him.

Well, Draco thinks, maybe it is.

Potter opens the door. He's dressed in a baggy green T-shirt, Muggle jeans and red trainers.

"Malfoy?" he asks, obviously confused. "What on earth brings you here?"

"Well, I've managed to acquire tickets," he says and pulls two from his pocket. "For tomorrow afternoon's match."

"You mean - Quidditch?" Harry's face lights up, briefly.

  
*****

  
They go to the match and sit side by side, mostly in silence.

'Didn't Potter use to be a lot more talkative?' Draco wonders as he observes his former rival out of the corner of his eye.

The man who lived to save them all was subsequently forgotten. Somehow, this doesn't seem fair.

And it certainly isn't.

However, Draco doesn't utter a word about that, and gradually, the atmosphere between them turns companionable and pleasant—

Only to get ruined again when seemingly out of nowhere, a reporter shows up.

"Aren't you Harry Potter?" the woman asks, her voice shrill and obnoxiously loud.

Predictably, at the mention of such a famous name, many heads turn.

_That's Harry Potter?_

"No, I'm afraid you're mistaken," Draco snaps and with a swift flick of his wand, he Apparates Harry and himself to the privacy of Malfoy Manor.

  
*****

  
For ten days, Draco successfully resists the urge to call on Potter -

_Harry._

It unsettles him greatly how much he cares, how often he worries, and how strongly the man still fascinates him.

They used to hate each other, competed fiercely over everything under the sun, but that was ages ago.

Before the war, before the Malfoys left for Athens, and before the terrible blast.

He read about it in the papers, and he knows his mother cried for people they never cared about before.

So much devious treachery, all of it utterly senseless with so little purpose or point.

Draco wonders whether Potter has kept his first wand, the one he never returned back then.

Perhaps someday soon, he'll ask him.

  
*****

  
The loud chime of the doorbell takes Draco by surprise.

He gets dressed, wanders downstairs and finds Harry Potter in the drawing room, being served coffee by a baffled house-elf.

Potter looks sheepish. "Sorry I woke you," he says.

Draco shrugs. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I was just thinking—"

"Yes?" Draco raises a quizzical eyebrow.

"Um, I was wondering… would you like your wand back?"

Draco laughs. "You woke me up for _that_?"

Harry shrugs and gazes down at the tips of his shoes guiltily.

"Fancy some breakfast?" Draco asks.

Harry looks up, relieved, and nods.

  
*****

  
Later that day, they stroll through the Malfoy gardens, which are nothing short of spectacular and provide a serene calm Harry so rarely finds these days.

By the pond, he inhales deeply and closes his eyes.

Draco stands next to him and never utters a word, but he does feel quite relieved when, later at lunch, Harry asks for seconds.

It's only a feta salad, but they have to start somewhere.

  
*****

  
Harry starts to visit more often.

Sometimes he'll read on the veranda, all afternoon, and at other times, he'll just sit there, on the bench by the pond, enjoying the silence, which is interrupted only by occasional bird song and the sound of leaves rustling softly in the wind.

Draco leaves him to it, and just goes about his own business as usual.

Soon, Potter's visits grow into a daily routine, though neither of them really understands why.

But they do both feel better—

Perhaps it's due to an odd sense of reassurance, brought on by the re-emergence of a past constant that's gradually putting their world back into balance.

  
*****

  
In the second week of the second month of the New Year, Draco suggests Harry should move into the Manor, if only for practical reasons.

"You spend all your time here now anyway."

Harry agrees. He supposes Malfoy is a strange choice for a housemate, but then they have been getting along surprisingly well lately, and the man has a point.

Besides, he loves and adores these gardens, and he's acquired a taste for that Greek food the Malfoy elves excel at cooking.

"All right, Draco," he says with a small smile.

  
*****

  
Spring brings many changes.

One of them is Pansy Parkinson who, one day, appears on the doorstep unannounced. And isn't it weird and ironically typical, Harry thinks, how so many Slytherins survived and escaped Azkaban for reasons no one can explain?

She's puzzled by Harry's presence, but not for long, and soon Harry suspects that she considers it to be a positive sign.

He overhears her say, "You look happier, Draco. More sociable."

But she couldn't be more wrong. Harry is the only person Draco socializes with and truth be told, Harry rather prefers it that way.

He watches the young woman's every movement like a hawk. Her presence unsettles him for reasons he prefers not to analyze too thoroughly.

He's only looking out for Malfoy, he tells himself, and he almost believes it too.

  
*****

  
On the third day, she says, "We should throw a fabulous party and re-introduce you into society, Draco. People miss you, you know, and so much time has passed."

Visibly paling, Draco starts to protest, "Pansy, I really don't think—"

Harry has heard enough. "Leave him the hell alone, Parkinson!" he yells, bolting out onto the patio.

"What?" she shrieks and promptly dodges the hex that's sent her way.

Draco swiftly intervenes, disarming Harry with surprising ease. "Leave us, Pansy," he then says in a commanding voice that sounds far too much like his late father's.

Pansy nods and hurries out of the room.

"What the _hell_ was that all about?" Draco yells. It's the first time he shouts at Harry since their reunion. They haven't even argued once in recent months, but Draco's in no mood to ponder on such things now.

"She was being extremely pushy," Harry states in his defense.

"Be that as it may," Draco points out, his voice ice, "but she's also my best friend. She means well."

"Best friend." Harry sneers. "She's after you, you know, _and_ after your money."

Draco shakes his head. "Really, Potter, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous."

Harry blushes furiously then, but stands his ground. "What if I am?" he challenges.

And for the first time in many years, Draco Malfoy is completely lost for words, but before he has the chance to say something stupid and embarrassing, a house-elf barges in. "Dinner is served, Master."

  
*****

  
The three of them eat in loaded silence.

Just before dessert, Pansy announces that she's leaving. "My fiancé," she says, glaring daggers in Harry's direction, "should be home from his business trip soon."

Draco nods, rises from his seat and accompanies her to the front door.

"You'll have to excuse Potter, Pans," he says apologetically. "He hasn't been himself lately."

"Right." She gives him a stern look. "That man couldn't be farther away from stable than the earth from the moon. I do hope you know what you're doing, Draco."

"So do I," he says.

He kisses her on the cheek. She walks out the door and Apparates away.

Deep in thought, he stares at the doorway for a long while.

  
*****

  
Hesitantly, Draco walks back into the dining room.

"I'm sorry," Harry says, genuinely remorseful, as he stands up and slowly makes his way towards his companion, "I didn't mean to—"

"What exactly _did_ you mean, Potter? What in Merlin's beard were you trying to accomplish with such rudeness? What has Pansy ever done to you, or are we actually going to stoop so low as to drag the sodding _war_ into this?"

"No. Not the war. I-" Harry mumbles, "I was afraid she'd come between us."

"Come between _what_ exactly?" Draco snaps.

"I-I don't know," Harry replies honestly, "but I'd like to find out."

And Draco thinks that being rendered speechless twice in one night is a little too much for comfort.

  
*****

  
They dart around each other for the remainder of the evening.

Draco takes a seat in the drawing room and pretends to read, while on the large green sofa across from him, Harry does the same.

And suddenly Draco realizes that the tension is back—

It's the same rush they always experienced whenever they were around each other at school, except back then, it wasn't like this, like some kind of—

—attraction? Sweet Merlin, is _that_ what this is?

And isn't Potter such a complete nuisance, Draco wonders wearily, always making him question everything, planting a seed of doubt until it sprouts and grows, and uproots the very foundations of everything he has ever believed in, everything he was certain he knew about himself?

"Draco?" Harry's voice is small, timid.

"Yes, _Potter_?"

"I-I'm truly sorry if I offended you."

Draco raises an eyebrow. "_Offended_ me?"

"Well, you look really pissed off, and I'm the only person who's given you just cause for that, and er—"

"Go on."

"I— er, may have overreacted a bit with Parkinson."

"Yes, Potter, —" Draco smirks "—just a tad. She'll be expecting an apology, you realize. Diamonds might do the trick."

"Um— Malfoy?"

Draco looks up curiously, and then their gazes meet, and it's another kind of rush—

It's intense and raw and it almost feels like the whole world has come to a standstill, and it's impossible to tell whether time has stopped or if it's actually moving so fast that they no longer feel it—

But whatever the case, it doesn't matter, because suddenly Harry has crossed the distance between them and joined Draco on the sofa. Without a word, he leans closer and kisses him—

—clumsily, like he hasn't kissed anyone in many years, and he probably hasn't, but still—

It feels inexplicably right to both of them, like the last piece of a puzzle finally falling into place.

But Draco has to ask, if only for his own peace of mind, "Harry, Are you absolutely sure about this?"

"Yes," Harry whispers. There's a slight quaver to his voice, but the look in his eyes is confident, and edged with a determination Draco hasn't seen there in years.

Draco smiles. "All right." He takes a deep breath, and Apparates them both to his bedroom.

  
*****

  
On the ninth day of the ninth month they return to Hogwarts Grounds.

"Are you certain we did the right thing," Harry asks, looking around, a questioning frown edged in his forehead, "buying this place from the Ministry?"

"Yes," Draco replies instantly and without any hesitation.

"You know, even with magic, it'll take years to rebuild."

"I know." Draco smiles. "But we have all the time in the world, you and I; don't we, Potter?"

Harry nods. "Yeah," he says with a small smile, "I guess we do."

Draco takes Harry's hand. "Let's go home."

Soon night turns into morning.

  



End file.
